


Putting the Fun in Dysfunctional

by Zhie



Series: Bunniverse [39]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, F/M, Family Issues, Family Reunions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Fingon is reminded why he tries to avoid family reunions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 31, 2014 on tumblr with the following note:
> 
> I woke up late, this came to me, and here it is, whittled down to 1000 words just for the heck of it. Maybe I’ll write the ‘rest’ later on today.

It was a typical late summer afternoon. How it was that everyone still gathered at Finwe’s house once a year despite the words and glares thrown about during the ‘vacations’ was something yet to be discovered. Nonetheless, there were dozens of cousins under one roof, with their constantly at odds parents, and grandparents who tried, usually in vain, to keep the peace. 

“Ty, your dog is scaring my dog!”

“Shut up, Arakáno, my dog is asleep and your dog is a nuicance!”

“Do not tell my brother to shut up!”

“Stop yelling at Tyelkormo – Huan is a gentle creature.”

“He just growled at me – gentle my ass!”

“Language, children,” scolded Indis, but her words were lost in the fray.

The older generation was not much different.

“You took my seat.”

“You have been gone for near half an hour, brother.”

“Half-brother!”

“Honestly, Naro!”

“He is right.”

“You stay out of this, Írimë!”

“Stop shouting – you are making Faniel weep.”

“I did not make her do that – that is all she does! She is a walking puddle!”

Sitting on a sofa, almost ignored by the rest of the family, Fingon sighed and rubbed his forehead. Most often, he was the one who was absent from the family reunions, but somehow both Maedhros and Turgon had convinced him that ‘this time would be different’. That was always the claim, and he would always need to remind them later that they were wrong. “How is it that I came to be born into such a dysfunctional mess of a family?” he wondered out loud.

Normally, under these circumstances, no one would have heard him. It just so happened that everyone was at a pause in their conversation or argument, and his words carried from the parlor and into the adjoining places, so that everyone sitting in his vicinity turned their head, and those who were not peered into the room with widened eyes.

He was motionless, but for his eyes, which took in all of the aghast faces. “Oh, please. Just because I am the only one who said it does not mean I am the only one who thought it.” He looked around, accusation in his gaze.

It looked as if he was certain to be scolded by his parents, or someone else’s parents, or even everyone, until his grandfather burst out laughing. “A spirited family we are, no doubt,” Finwë declared. “Opinionated, and with solid convictions.” Indis bowed her head with a small sigh.

“Or crazy,” added Fingon in a clear voice. As long as he had the floor, he may as well say it. Perhaps it would prevent him from being required to attend future family gatherings.

He could only hope.

“We are a perfectly normal family.” Fingolfin put an arm around the sniffling Faniel and patted her shoulder. She only began to sob again.

“Alright, then. Go give Uncle Fëanáro a hug. Not just a pat on the shoulder, but a real hug. And if anyone corrects me and says ‘Half-Uncle’, I swear, I am leaving and never coming back,” warned Fingon.

Fingolfin and Feanor looked at each other with disgusted apprehension. The room was now crowded with curious onlookers from the other rooms. “He is such a klutz, he is going to spill his drink on me if he does not put it down,” grumbled Feanor, as Fingolfin muttered, “You want me to hug him so he can stab me in the back easier?”

Arguments erupted again, with Findis coming to aid Finarfin, and Írimë shouting back, an arm around Faniel. Huan barked, and once more Finrod, Turgon, and Argon were in disagreement against Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir. Angrod was scolding Aredhel, Galadriel was giving her opinion on the entire matter, and Maglor just played his harp louder.

Across the room, a flash of red uprooted Fingon. An exchanged gaze and a slight shake of the head only served as a challenge. He walked across the room, took hold of Maedhros’ shoulder, and yanked him into the middle of the parlor. 

Once again, the room was made silent, except this time, Maedhros was blushing to match his hair.

Fingon kissed Maedhros as noisily as possible, for longer than was appropriate even in private Maedhros would later say. For added emphasis, he jerked Maedhros closer, fingers dug into his hips. With the exception of gagging noises from Turgon and Celegorm, no one made a sound. Fingon stepped back from his breathless cousin and addressed the others in the room, though his eyes never left Maedhros. “At least there are two of us who know how to behave nicely,” he said in a rather commanding voice. “Now, if you will excuse us, we are going to go act like family should, without petty arguments about who’s foot is where and which drink belongs to which person’s dog, because by the end of the n—“ 

Maedhros bowed his blushing head and kissed Fingon to end the very revealing sentence—not that their actions had left a great deal to the imagination. “I think you made your point, my dear, valiant cousin.” 

It seemed as if Fingon meant to continue regardless, but a hand squeezed his hip, and a wink accompanied an impish quirk of the lips. “Well, I certainly hope so!” he announced before he and Maedhros left the room and soon after, the house.

An uncomfortable silence followed while most of the occupants examined the ceiling or looked at their feet. It was broken by Celegorm, who smugly let everyone know, “Arakáno, your dog just peed on the carpet.”

“Because your dog scared him!”

“Because your dog is a furry rat!”

“Your face is a furry rat!”

“That makes no sense!”

“You make no sense!”

“Will you please stop it?!” burst out Maglor.

“You stop it!” sneered Angrod, and he kicked the bottom of the harp for emphasis.

Outside, on the floor of the gazebo in the courtyard, the conversation was exactly the opposite.

 

“Oh, please… do not stop…”


End file.
